Tea and the Grinch - A Sick Day
by ElliotGlass11
Summary: Clara is afflicted with a terrible human disease that makes her lose her voice, and only one space alien is fit to take care of her, naturally.


The Doctor spun giddily round the controls, throwing them with flourishes and spins and grinning like an idiot. He already had a mental list going of place he could take Clara today. Just as he set the destination to the Maitlands', however, the TARDIS phone rang.

"Hello! Clara?" He said loudly into the phone.

"No," an indignant voice said on the other end. "It's me, stupid. Angie."

"Oh! Hello, Angie! What seems to be the trouble?" He asked.

"Clara wanted me to tell you she can't go anywhere today."

The Doctor frowned and stiffened. "What? What's wrong?"

"She's ill," Angie responded simply.

"Oh," he sighed, slouching in disappointment. Then a thought occurred to him. "Is she… decent?"

He could almost hear the confused frown on the other end. "D'you mean, is she dressed?"

He sighed. "Yes, that's what I mean."

"Yeah, I guess. What's-"

"Tell her not to worry. We're not going anywhere today."

He hung up the phone and set the destination anyway, landing a moment later in the front yard of the Maitlands. He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed a bouquet of flowers from a room down the hall.

The front door swung open to reveal two confused looking children after he'd knocked.

"Hello! I'm looking for Clara," he informed them, pointing to the flowers.

"She's upstairs," Angie said, crossing her arms.

The Doctor thanked her and rushed past the two of them to Clara's room.

"Knock first!" Artie shouted from downstairs.

The Doctor straightened his bowtie and stood smiling in front of the door as he knocked.

A moment later, the door swung open slowly to reveal a raggedy, tired-looking mess of hair and fabric that was Clara. Her hair was unbrushed and covering most of her face and she was wrapped in an enormous, slouchy sweater and pajamas. Slowly, her eyes seemed to adjust, and then widened, and she brushed hair out of her face as her mouth fell open.

"Hello! I heard you were ill, so I've come to take care of you!" He announced happily.

He was eliciting no reaction from her other than shock and a touch of horror.

"Well? What do you need? Say something."

Clara shook her head, and pointed to her throat.

"Oh, is that it? You've lost your voice," he observed.

She nodded.

"And is that all? Are you ill otherwise?"

She nodded and opened her mouth as if to speak but he stopped her with a finger to her lips.

"No, no talking! I've got just the thing!" He handed her the flowers and she took them, eyeing him confusedly as if to ask how flowers were gonna help her. "No, that's not it, hold on," he murmured, and walked straight into her room, finding her laptop easily and opening it. Clara found a vase in her room and stowed the flowers there, and when she was done he was standing over her holding her laptop like a Christmas gift. She looked down at it and found that he'd simply opened a Word processor. She nodded, smiling. He'd taken care to remember her specialty in electronics.

She took the computer and sat on the bed, and he sat next to her cautiously, watching her type.

_Stomach, headache, throat, sick, tired, _she wrote simply.

"Ah. Have you taken your medicine?" He asked seriously, looking her straight in the face.

She punched him in the arm lightly and wrote, _yes._

He laid a hand on her forehead, eyeing her concernedly, and she frowned at him.

_You're taking care of me._

"Yes."

_Why?_

He looked surprised that she would ask. "Because I care about you. Because you're ill, and you need help, and I _am_ a Doctor."

She giggled. _That's not what I meant. _At his confusion, she continued, _I thought you hated human-y things._

He sighed. "Yes, well… I suppose I used to. In some ways, I still do. But I've gotten to be more patient, more… human, myself, I guess. My last companions… taught me how. I stayed with them, and I learned.

She looked at him suspiciously. _And you took care of them when they were ill_?

"Well, no, I guess not. I sort of… ran away, whenever that happened."

She laughed, but the only sound that came out was a shaky breath. _So why me?_

"I dunno. I suppose I was hoping… " he took her hand. "Could you teach me to be human, Clara Oswald?"

She smiled up at him, but was soon overtaken by a fit of coughing.

"Dear me," he muttered, patting her back. As she regained composure, he perked up. "Tell you what. I'll carry this," he took the laptop from her and closed it, "and you come downstairs to the couch."

She looked outright offended.

"I'm going to make you tea and we're going to watch telly," he informed her matter-of-factly.

He ran out of the room giddily and Clara considered staying in her bed and sleeping, but she sighed and followed him anyway, crossing her arms over her stomach in discomfort.

As he made tea, the Doctor glanced to the hallway but couldn't find Clara. He was about to call her name when he heard the sound of the television coming on. He poked his head in through the doorway and found her already curled up on the couch, flipping through channels with the remote.

Once he had the kettle on, he returned to her bedroom and a moment later surprised Clara on the couch by throwing a blanket over her. She smiled slightly in thanks and he handed her the laptop, which she promptly disregarded on the table, snuggling into the blanket. The Doctor smiled and left for the kitchen.

He returned a moment later with tea and biscuits but began to fiddle with the DVD player. Clara sat up, questioning him with her face.

He grinned. "We're going to watch _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_!" He exclaimed, holding up a DVD and grinning.

Clara sighed and laid back down, too tired to argue. He could do what he wanted. It was nearly Christmas, anyway.

A few minutes later, they were both drinking tea on the couch and the movie'd begun. The Doctor had sat near enough to Clara that her feet ended up pressing against his leg after a moment. He laughed himself into fits, ridiculously entertained by the film, but wondered why she didn't find it as funny. Looking over, he noticed that she was already asleep. He chuckled and took the tea from her to set it on the table.

About an hour later into the movie, Clara doubled over and moaned, the sound low and hoarse, breaking halfway through. The Doctor dropped his empty teacup and reached for her.

"What's wrong? What is it, Clara?"

She pointed to her stomach, which was being covered by her arms.

The Doctor faltered, having no idea what to do. He could jump into his timestream to save her, but he couldn't fix the common cold. He brushed her hair out of her face and over her neck to look at her.

"Do you want more tea?" He stammered, and she shook her head. "More – more medicine?"

She shook her head again. "Can't," she mouthed.

He scanned her with panic, only able to rub her back and, evidently, become too flustered to help her. Finally, he could only suggest lamely, "Do you want to lie down again?"

But this time she nodded, sitting up again. He scooted over on the couch to give her more room, but she followed suit and her head ended up resting in his lap as the rest of her sprawled out along the cushions. The Doctor stiffened, uncomfortable, but didn't have the heart to get up or move her. In the end, he sighed and sat back, defeated.

Every instinct of his was shouting that this was wrong. The parts of him that knew she was ill and this was human and that knew the dangers of becoming too human and the parts of him that remembered River and the dangers of getting in this close and looking at her lips with that sort of thinking. But all the other instincts seemed to be overshadowed by one very clear one, one that seemed to come from his very core. One he could only think to title, "but _Clara_."

He found it difficult to concentrate on the movie, now, though. With ever stir of Clara's, he found himself wondering if she was in pain or uncomfortable. He absentmindedly played with her hair, pulling it out of her face and stroking it down the length of her slender neck. He watched her toes curl and wondered if he should lift the blanket to cover them, but decided against it, given that any movement he now made would be more awkward than he could have intended. But he was finding that it was easier now even than it had been with the Ponds – a regular life. He wasn't impatient or restless.

He saw in his peripheral vision that the heart of the Grinch grew three sizes, but he was less attached to that bit of character development at the moment. Clara was clutching the blanket up around her.

A few minutes later – or perhaps it was a lot; the Doctor couldn't really tell – after the movie had ended, Clara's eyes fluttered open. She shifted so she was no longer on her side, but staring up at him. He glanced down and saw her open eyes.

"Hello, stranger," he murmured, laughing.

Her eyes were full of wonder as she gawked at him. "You stayed." Her voice was hoarse, and it cracked, but at least it was there.

He smiled, pulling stray locks away from her eyes. "Of course I stayed."

She laughed quietly. "I thought you'd get bored."

"No, the Grinch was on!" He asserted, gesturing to the T.V. She turned her head slightly to look at the screen that was now black.

"Isn't anymore," she murmured.

Somehow, that was the end of the conversation.

"You can go back to sleep," he said quietly, feeling guilty that she was awake.

She shook her head. "I'm okay. Not tired anymore."

A moment later, she sat up, facing him. He felt her put her hand on his and looked up to see her smiling. "Thanks for taking care of me."

He looked down, smiling to himself, and then back up at her. He could only nod.

After a second, it was apparent neither of them were moving. The Doctor had the sudden urge to kiss her, but ignored it. This shouldn't be happening, he shouldn't be noticing the dilation in her eyes or her hand on his skin or – or the way she was also glancing at his lips…

He leaned forward a bit suddenly and his lips painted over hers gently. Clara kissed him back, slowly, tenderly, and he savored the taste of tea on her mouth and the feel of her hand in his hair. And for a moment, with the feel of her soft mouth against his, he forgot about Gallifrey and aliens and time travel and TARDISes – he could only see her. He forgot about a life outside of hers and it was beautiful and domestic and comfortable. He'd gotten her tea and a blanket and they'd sat in and watched a movie and she'd felt rubbish so they didn't go anywhere – why did all that mean so much?

The instinct spoke up again, simply saying, _Clara._

It was over far too quickly and Clara's eyes were staring into his, wide with shock. She laughed, whispering, "I'm ill."

"Hey, I'm not falling prey to any minor human ailments. I'll be fine," he promised her.

She smiled, and relaxed into him, her head rested on his shoulders and her knees curled into her chest.

They didn't talk. They didn't need to. And it wasn't long before she fell asleep on him again.

What really surprised the Doctor was that he, too, fell asleep before long.

**Three Days Later**

"'I'm not falling prey to any silly human ailments,' he said," Clara proclaimed loudly as she entered the Doctor's bedroom with a tea tray. "'No, not me, not the all-powerful immortal time lord.'" She mimicked his lower voice.

The Doctor groaned. "Shut up." His voice broke several times within just the two words, giving them even less effect.

"'I'm the Oncoming Storm, the Saver of Worlds. I can kiss anyone I like and still never get a cold,'" she continued, setting the tray on his nightstand.

He wearily raised an arm to throw a pillow in her direction, and it missed by several feet. She laughed.

"Don't make fun of me," the Doctor complained, pulling a second pillow over his head. His voice broke halfway through the sentence and he had to whisper the last words before her gave up.

Clara laughed just at the sight of him. He was lying face-down in his bed, on top of the covers, and hadn't bothered to change into anything more comfortable than his usual getup. He looked ridiculous.

She sat on the side of the bed. "Come on. Into the covers with you." He raised his head and an index finger to complain, but she stopped him with a finger to his lips, mimicking his words from days earlier. "Oi. No talking today."

He sighed, too tired to argue, and did as she said, curling up into the covers like a five-year-old staying home from school.

Clara smiled at the thought. She leaned over to him, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. "Now, what can I get you? Tylenol? Water? A smaller ego?"

He opened his eyes to smile up at her.

"No, hold on, you can't talk. Yes or no questions, okay?" He nodded. "Okay. More medicine?" He shook his head. "Do you want your tea?" Again, a shake of the head. "Do you want to eat?" Another no. She sighed exasperatedly. "What _do_ you want?"

He simply patted the bed beside him.

She sat up, taken aback. After considering for a moment, she allowed herself to lie down on her side atop the covers next to him. He closed his eyes and smiled.

"Do you want to watch the Grinch?" She whispered.

His eyes flew open and he nodded enthusiastically.

Clara got up to put it on. When she'd finished and it was playing on the television hanging on the wall of the Doctor's bedroom, she looked back to find he was already asleep.

Laughing under her breath, she climbed back onto the mattress and rested her head on his chest, listening to the double heartbeat and feeling him breathing.

"Clara?" He whispered nearly silently.

She hadn't realized he was still awake. "Yes?" She lifted her head to see his eyes closed and a slight smile on his face.

"Would it be alright if – could I maybe – do you think…?" He was scrambling to find a sentence.

"What?" She worried he was hurt.

He opened one eye to peer down at her cautiously. "Could I have a kiss?"

Clara burst out laughing. "No! That's what started this all in the first place!"

He sighed, defeated, and laid back against the pillow again.

Clara pursed her lips. She whispered, "Would it help?"

She could see him holding back a grin. "Yes."

Slowly, she clambered up the bed and kissed him, her hair brushing across his face, and she could feel his lips smiling slightly as he kissed back. She stopped and grinned at him, his face dark in the shadow of her hair, before climbing back down to the level of his shoulder, where she rested her head. An arm came up around her waist and she smiled, closing her eyes.

"Am I taking good care of you?"

He whispered, "Yes."

It was quiet for a moment.

Then Clara heard him breathe a "Thank you."

She smiled a little wider. "Just repaying the favour."

He chuckled.

"And if I get horribly ill again because of you, you're gonna have to do this again."

"Won't be a problem." He began laughing, his chest shaking with the movement. "We could just do this for weeks, getting each other sick just to pay back favours."

She laughed with him. "Sounds fun. I wonder if I'll ever get sick of _The Grinch_."

They joked a bit more about being perpetually ill until Clara could feel him fading, hearing his responses getting quieter and more incoherent and his breathing more labored.

"Doctor? Go to sleep."

And it seemed he was already gone as she watched the bright colours on the television start to blur in her own fatigue.

Soon, she was slipping into sleep as the last full sentence he'd whispered replayed over and over in her brain.

_I'd like that. Falling asleep with you forever._


End file.
